Someone by my Side
by Enjorous
Summary: What if Elaine had stayed during the fire that killed DuMourne and the wardens found both Harry and Elaine and tried them both for murder. They manage to stay together at McCoy's. Definitely AU but not really OOC. Full Summary inside.
1. Someone by his Bed

**Disclaimer: Of course ****The Dresden Files**** belong to Mister Butcher. And the original idea for this story came from crazyfoxdemon.**

**A/N: This story will go back and forth between two stories and two points of view. The first will be told from Elaine's point of view and will follow her journey as she tries to find out what's wrong with Harry. The second story will be the past in flashback form telling what would have happened if Elaine had not faked her death after Harry killed Justin DeMourne instead they both get charged with breaking the first law of magic and are both placed in the care of Ebenezer McCoy (Under the Doom of Domcles of course.) Because Elaine stays with Harry the entirety of the series would have been different, no basement apartment, no Blue Beetle, and no faltering wizard business.**

**One last thing: All chapters with "his" in the title are from Elaine's point of view and chapters with "my" in them are from Harry's point of view.**

Prologue: Someone by his Bed

Agony, pure, simple, and unadulterated.

Agony, anguish, misery, torture: the only words that could even come close to quantifying what he was going through, simple as that. The sweat forming on his brow, his face twisted with pain, his body curled into the fetal position.

And all I could do was sit beside him; holding his hand, and gently mop his forehead. If I could only take his pain away, I would gladly do it for him. After all I loved him and if all the romance novels in the world are right that's what you're supposed to do for the one you love.

Of course I would do it with or without the crappy novels that littered our lab around Bob's skull; because Harry would do if for me every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

I sighed a little, wiping a tear from my cheek; I hurt too. Not nearly as much as Harry was, but it's hard watching someone you love writhing in pain and not having any idea about why.

"But I'm going to find out, Harry. I promise." I swore, reluctantly letting go of his hand.

As I walked out of our bedroom, Harry let out a pathetic whimper, and my heart plummeted to the floor. I did an immediate about face and went right back into the bedroom sitting down on the bed. I gently caressed his clammy cheek, hoping that whatever was causing this was something magical…something I could stop…something that wouldn't kill him.

If Harry died…I don't know. He's a survivor, he always was; if he was on a plane and the plane crashed he would be the one person that would be able to walk away. Not even I'm that lucky, well only when he's around.

I picked up the towel I'd been using to wipe the sweat away from his forehead and dipped it into the bowl of cold water that sat on the night stand. I wrung it out into the bowl before wiping the sweat away from his furrowed brow, down his sharp nose, over to his angular cheek bones, and along his sharp jaw. Not necessarily handsome and a far cry from a perfect ten, but I wouldn't have him any other way.

I stood up from the bed again and headed to the door, again. There was not pathetic whimper this time, just a ragged and unstable sigh. My heart broke again but I slowly shut the door any way, wiping a new tear from my eye. I joked out an ironic laugh; here Harry was in unbearable pain and I was the one crying.

No…I had to be strong for him, I had to help him as quick as I could; but where was the best place to start? What kind of doctor still makes house calls? I can't really take him into any ER there's only a couple million dollars worth of equipment that we could destroy; and that would only kill two dozen people or so. I guess that isn't the best idea I've had today.

Maybe I should start with a magical cause, knowing Harry that would be the much more likely candidate than some mystery illness. That meant the best place to start was in the basement lab. I padded as quietly as I could down the short hallway that leads from our bedroom, past the bathroom to the door that leads down to the lab slash basement.

The stairs down to the basement are narrow and steep and on more than one occasion I've almost broken my neck trying to walk down them. I put out a hand, groping for the one actual electric light bulb; had they been candles I would have lit them with a single word. But the basement having no windows and no air vents a light bulb seemed like the most logical thing to put down here.

At the bottom of the stairs I managed to close my hand around the braided metal chain and pulled down. After a soft click the basement was flooded with a sickly yellow light, from the old antique light bulb hanging from the center of the room. Before anyone says anything about "going green" or any other such nonsense, a compact florescent light bulb would last a matter of seconds around two wizards.

The basement/lab was set up in the most functional way that the cramped space would allow. In the center was a silver circle that could function as a regular spell circle, a binding circle, or in rare occasions a summoning circle when we need to get some information from a demon from the Nevernever. Along three of the walls were hastily built work benches filled with magical supplies of one kind or another. The most notable is somewhat organized area that contains a few beakers, a flask, and a set of graduated cylinders that we use for brewing potions.

Below the workbenches in giant plastic boxes were an assorted lot of books and other papers of the supernatural variety. Being a wizard doesn't instill a superhuman intellect, it just makes one necessary; so we have to keep a lot of books around. Fortunately we also have Bob.

Bob sits on his own workbench; this one came with the house, on the fourth wall of the basement. Bob is also a skull, not like the medical kind that is bleached and preserved, more like the real kind that's dirty and yellowed. I shouldn't say that Bob _is_ a skull, more like he lives in one; Bob is a spirit of wind, and a spirit of intellect. I suppose a long time ago some powerful wizards managed to capture him in a skull and he pretty much gives information for books. I use the term books as a euphemism for smut; the dirtier, and the steamier the better.

After turning on the light I walked straight over to Bob's skull, picking up a pencil from the corner of the workbench that was otherwise littered with worn out paperback romance novels. Don't ask me how he reads them, I've never seen him do it, but the books come in whole and are completely thrashed in a day or two.

"Bob, wake up!" I said rather forcefully thumping the pencil down on the top of the skull.

"Ugh, what is it?" Bob replied, two small motes of orange light filling the eye sockets of his skull.

"Harry's in trouble and I need to find out why." I said whacking his skull again with my pencil.

"What's wrong with him this time?" Bob asked sounding a bit bored. Normal for Bob, at least around me, I think I intimidate him a little.

"If I knew I wouldn't be asking you now would I!" I practically shouted slamming my hand against the wooden bench.

"Whoa, keep your panties on straight." Bob said slipping back into his usual sarcastic attitude. "Seriously – what is wrong with him?"

"I don't know…" My stony façade finally cracked and a tear slid down my cheek. "He seems to be in a massive amount of pain. He's burning up; it's like he has a massive a fever."

"Penitus incendia," Bob replied lowly, the motes of his eyes visibly dimming.

"What does 'inward fire' have to do with anything?" I asked translating Bob's Latin.

"It's what's wrong with Harry. It's an extremely powerful curse; it burns the victim from the inside out." For all of Bob's sniping of Harry, I don't know what he would do without him.

"How long will it take to kill him?" I asked hoping I would have enough time to fix whatever was wrong with him.

"A day, maybe two, depends on how far along the curse is right now." Bob said in the most serious tone I'd ever heard from him.

"How do stop it?" I pleaded, grabbing a pad of paper from a drawer in front of his skull.

"You can't stop it." He responded as if he were giving a weather report.

"So…so he's going to die no matter what?" I choked out, feeling the pencil slip out of my hand. The hollow clink on the concrete seemed to echo around the basement for what seemed like an eternity.

"I didn't say that. You can't stop the curse; only the person who cursed him can perform the counter curse." Bob explained like I was a child; and in a way I felt like one.

"So I have to find him and persuade him to undo the curse, without killing him?" I asked in a low, hollow voice.

"Or skin 'em and undo the curse that way." Bob said as some 'life' returned to his motes.

"Okay, so I'll find the bastard and skin him alive." I said running out of the basement and back to Harry.

"You'll have to bathe in his blood too!" Bob called after me as I slammed the door to the basement shut.

The best place to start looking for answers was back with Harry. If someone cursed him they would have left a psychic, and hopefully a physical, trace behind. I needed to find that so I could start to track the bastard who did this.

God I hate Mondays!

**A/N: Next chapter will be the beginning of Harry's story starting just before the fire that killed DuMourne.**


	2. Someone in my Fire

**Authors Note****: Like I said chapters containing the word 'my' are from Harry's point of view. **

**I also would like to take the time to correct something in the note for the prologue. It's the Doom of Damocles not Domcles.**

**So here's the first real chapter of the story. Please read and enjoy. Oh and I lied in my last authors note, and you'll see how soon enough.

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Someone in my Fire

Alright, so I'm sitting here right now with my hands bound behind my back and a suffocating black bag over my head kneeling in the middle of an old warehouse surrounded by a bunch of old wizards. Can this get any worse? Surprisingly yes, less than thirty seconds ago I heard the distinct metallic scrape of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. Now I'm pretty freakin' sure that the only way things could get worse would be if that sword met with my body. I'm hoping to whoever is out there that that doesn't happen.

A bead of sweat invisibly ran down into my eye, my breath hitched for a moment before I realized that it was only some sweat and nothing worse. A large metal door creaked open on rusty hinges somewhere around me.

I guess what I read in Daredevil when I was a kid was right; if your lose your sight all your other senses perk up…or it could be all the adrenaline coursing through my veins because I may be a large bloodstain all too soon.

Coming from the direction of the door were the sound of two separate and distinct footsteps. The first was a firm almost stomp kind of a step in big boots, the other was more like a soft shuffling sound, almost like the owner was barefoot.

The footsteps came closer until there was a dull thump and the shuffling footsteps were silenced as the heavy ones stomped away.

"Elaine, is that you?" I whispered as quietly as I could. It was made clear that prisoners weren't allowed to talk.

"Mmhm," Elaine tried to say, but it sounded like she was drugged.

"Hey it's going to be alright." I said shifting towards her so that my knee was touching hers.

Suddenly a strong, thick hand clamped down on my neck, throwing my harshly on the cold cement. "Warlocks don't get to talk here!" A disembodied voice shouted.

I laid there for a moment wondering whether or not to get up, until the gruff thick hand grabbed me by the neck of my shirt. "I never said you could lay…"

"Morgan, your job is to guard the prisoners, not torture them." A new even gruffer voice with what sounded like a southern accent mixed with an old Scottish one.

Then a separate hand this one more calloused but somehow kinder grabbed me under my arm, "He's right, Hoss, you have to be on your knees for his."

I nodded and murmured a soft thank you, returning to my tired knees. I shifted again, moving as close as I could to Elaine without eliciting the wrath of Morgan.

I wanted so desperately to grab onto Elaine's hand in a desperate hope to try and reassure both of us. It's no longer death that scares me, now it's the uncertainty of this whole thing.

The next thing I knew the rusted door creaked open again and seven people walked through it taking their places in front of the two…no three, maybe four of us.

"Vos duos es tutela per effrego primoris lex per interficio veneficus DuMorne." One of the senior council members began in Latin. I only started learning Latin so I'm not sure if that's what he said, but that's what I heard. I think he said something like _'you two are charged with violating the first law of magic by killing Wizard DuMorne'_

White Council meetings are conducted exclusively in Latin, which is why Justin (DuMorne) forced Elaine and me to learn it as fast as we could. And when we were supposed to be studying; we normally just fooled around.

And by fooled around I mean we _fooled_ around…

The quote unquote trial proceeded from there, with a lot of Latin that I couldn't understand, and very little that I did. Until the end when an English member of the Senior Council, possibly the Merlin, addressed me, "Quod vos Apprentice Dresden. Quis operor vos loquor."

I only know that he addressed me because I recognized my own name, and the word apprentice. What the hell was I supposed to do, what did he just say? He either asked me to speak, or he mentioned something about liquor.

"Boy, if you want to save yer ass then you better start talking soon." The gruff voice that wasn't Morgan said in a hushed whisper.

I tried to stutter, but my voice caught in my throat. When it finally started working I whispered back "I can't speak Latin."

"Just start talking and I'll worry about the Latin." The southern-accented voice replied.

"Umm-uh," I started incredibly intelligent, "I…uh…He, I mean Wizard DuMorne…" I couldn't finish a single thought, knowing that if I screwed up there would probably be two dead bodies to clean up.

"I don't know what yer trying to do, but it's not helping." Southern said, kicking me lightly in the ribs, "I'm tryin' to help but you got to help yourself first"

I cleared my throat as quietly as I could so I didn't look like an ever bigger fool. So instead of being a perfect ten, I'm sitting pretty at a nine point nine. "Umm-uh," now I'm up to the perfect ten on the idiot meter. "It was self defense."

"Is eram ego tutaminis," the older wizard translated. It sounded so much cooler in Latin than it did in English, or it could be because his voice was steady and even, not shaking like a leaf in a Texas twister.

"It started about three weeks ago," I said, gaining a bit of confidence in my voice, or maybe I was just borrowing it from the wizard to my left.

_Three weeks ago Justin DuMorne vainly tried to persuade me to join him in some large endeavor with something that reminded me of a miniature version of The Death Star. But instead of being large, futuristic, and high-tech, it was small, heavily runed, and heavy into dark magic. So I guess it looked more like the Basketball of Doom, more than the Death Star. I say vainly, because I denied him thrice…well actually it was more like a dozen times._

_But that just isn't as cool, or literary._

_After a full week of trying he decided I was too much of a liability so He sent and Outsider after me. Not like the idiotic gangbangers from the book or the '83 flick. An Outsider, with a capitol 'O,' is one of the most powerful demons in this or any universe. These demons are so powerful, in fact, that the White Council has a law prohibiting the summoning of Outsiders into our world. And I was unlucky enough to have one sent after me at the tender age of sixteen._

_The one that Justin (hereafter referred to as 'The Bastard') sent after me was called He Who Walks Behind. When I first say it, I damn near: crapped my pants, ran away, and cried for my mommy; not necessarily in that order though. I suppose if The Bastard wanted to kill me all along he probably shouldn't have trained me so damn well, should he?_

_It's not like I kicked its outsider ass with one spell tied behind my ass, more like I was able to survive the encounter by the skin of my toenails and a tear into the Nevernever. It was a tear that I guess it couldn't cross; if I'm going to be facing demons in the future I should probably learn what exactly Outsiders can and cannot do._

_For the sake of shortness I'll skip through all the events that occurred during my short stay in Faerie. All I will say is that I found out I had Fairy Godmother, and I know owe her one favor, but that doesn't sound too bad. One favor seems pretty darn simple._

_Skipping ahead three weeks and change to just yesterday morning._

_I carefully stalked through The Bastard's house; knowing that the only way I could stop him from doing whatever it was he was doing with the Basketball of Doom would be to get the jump on him. Even with surprise on my side I'd never worked an evocation this big. The only times I've used fire magic before were to free my legs from blocks of ice that DuMorne used as a teaching tool, to teach fire and control at the same time. Needless to say I managed to burn my pants of and leave second degree burns all across my legs. _

_That wasn't a particularly fun way to spend a Saturday morning, but back to the past present._

_I crept through the house as quietly as I could, but being close to six feet worth of arms and legs, it was probably more trouble than it was worth. I knew he would keep anything important down in the basement; there were a few places that we were threatened to never go into: the master bedroom, his private study, and at the top of the list was the basement._

_Of course when we were younger we always tried going into those places, but when we weren't caught we were stopped dead by some serious freakin' wards until we were caught. By the time we were thirteen we gave up trying to get into those places in favor of not getting bruised and battered for trying._

_Anyway, back to today. I found the door to the basement easily enough; it's between my room and the kitchen, so we've met. As I got to the door, the hair on the back of my neck immediately stood on edge. The door was open; the door was never open, even when he was down in the basement. _

_I crouched down, pressing my back to the door, and listened. I heard two muffled voices, though I couldn't make out any of what they were saying, I recognized the two voices immediately. One belonged to my former mentor, The Bastard, the other my seemingly ex girlfriend, Elaine. I cringed slightly thinking that Elaine had fallen for the black magic._

_I never thought about hurting either of them, I just wanted to make sure they were stopped before they hurt anyone. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if they hurt someone and I didn't do anything and everything in my power._

_I took as much care as I could to be silent as I crept down the stairs. Unfortunately all the stairs creaked; not too terribly bad, but enough that I would be noticed sooner rather than later._

"_Harry, so glad that you could join us." The Bastard said in a falsely cheery voice._

"_Justin, too bad I'm not joining you. But since you already tried to kill me once already I'm sure you already knew that," I replied standing up from the bottom step._

"_Ah Harry, still with the sharp tongue and the dull wit." He replied sounding completely bored._

"_At least I still have my looks and my charm. More than I can say about you." I shot back, stopping myself from flipping him the bird._

"_Not for long you don't." A wicked smile crept on to his face. "Elaine, would you please take care of this please."_

"_Absolutely." Elaine answered with a glassy look in her eyes._

_I didn't give either of them the chance, while The Bastard had been so busy with his witty dialogue, I scanned the basement trying to use the terrain to my advantage. The basement would have made Frankenstein proud. Well if Frankenstein was a wizard and not a scientist. There were beakers and test tubes everywhere; and little glass containers holding god knows what in them._

_But aside from the magical whats-its there were four irregularly spaced supports holding massive ceiling beams up. I didn't have a prayer of beating Justin in a fair fight, but if I could collapse the ceiling down on him. Then I could win._

_What about Elaine? She threw her lot in with Justin, so why should I care if she dies with him._

_Except that I love her._

"_Fire!" I shouted outstretching my hands; immediately two bright orange arcs of flame leapt from my hands. The fire launched out engulfing the entire basement in front of me. It wrapped the four support columns chewing through them like an army of termites._

_With a sharp flick of the wrist The Bastard unleashed a massive force of will, driving me hard into the wall behind me. I think something might have cracked something in my chest, but I didn't have time to think about it._

_Hitting the concrete wall must have sent a tremor or something into the supports or the weight of the beams above finally broke through them. Whatever happened the four beams holding up the ceiling gave way at the same time. _

_The massive beams crashed down into the lab, missing me by less than a few inches; the fires continuing to lick their way through the massive eight by eight beams. I tried to breathe a short sigh of relief but the massive clouds of smoke, made that damn near impossible._

_Through the roaring fires I managed to find the stairs before I was completely choked with smoke. All those fire drills telling kids to stay low don't mean much when the fire is coming from the basement. I took a quick look around, no one else was standing up, but there was a faint shape huddled underneath a bench on the other side of the burning basement._

_It was Elaine. I looked back up the stairs towards freedom and safety, and then back at the huddled from of my now ex-girlfriend. I stole one more look to the pale blue light above me; and ran back into the growing inferno._

_I didn't look back as I ran straight into the heart of the fire, jumping and weaving my way through the quickly burning wreckage that was the basement. Elaine was collapsed on the floor completely unconscious, clutching a package wrapped in a dark cloth bag._

_I choked out a few silent breaths looking through the fire; the inferno began to close in around the path I'd taken through the fire. That didn't stop me; I swept the unconscious brunette into my arms and dashed back through the fire ignoring the pain and the smoke and the fire._

_The stairs were partially collapsed when I found them through the pain. The smoke combined with the intense heat my fire created made it damn near impossible to breathe. I took in as deep of a breath as I could manage with all the smoke and jumped up to the first stair that hadn't succumbed to the flames. I ran up the dozen stairs to the top, hoping that they would support our combined weight._

_We burst through the door into the main house and collapsed immediately into the hallway. And then the world went black, but I knew that Elaine was as safe as I was._

Old Man Wizard finished his translation thirty seconds after I did. That was a long story and I'm not sure if it truly qualified as self defense…Well I haven't kept current on my _Law & Order _since I came into my powers, so it could be fluttergork for all I know.

The senior council member in charge of this trial started talking again in Latin, and I couldn't make sense of any of it. So I waited patiently for my head to be lobbed off my head.

Strangely enough it never happened. There was some more some arguing, completely in Latin, between the "judge" and the older wizard who translated for me. I knew that the guard dude was standing next to me with one eye on me and the other on his sword

But it never came.

It still made my neck all tingly and prickly, but hey I got to keep it. So I still came out on top.

Three or four hundred days later, according to my knees; the latest footsteps to arrive were the first to leave, followed by one set of heavy boot steps and the sound of metal rubbing against metal. Clearly Chuckles has left the building.

Next thing I knew I was getting hauled up to my feet, by the same gruff hands that helped me to my knees earlier. "On yer feet Hoss." He said grabbing me under my arm pits. My legs were completely numb beneath me and I was all sort of surprised that I managed to keep them under me.

Of course I still had a bag over my head and my hands were still bound. But those were minor details.

"C'mon, get up missy." He said walking over and by the sounds he did the same thing to Elaine. There was a small click followed by some sawing, and then some more sawing and my hands were free. My wrists were sore, but my hands were free.

I reached up and ripped the bag off my head. I didn't know exactly where we were, but it sure as hell looked like some abandoned warehouse. Sheet metal walls, leaking roof, rusted door with a massive lock on it.

I looked over to Elaine, and she looked like she was half dead. What happened yesterday ceased to matter; I wrapped my arms firmly around her. She didn't respond, but I just hugged her tighter kissing her cheek lightly.

"C'mon you two, you're both coming with me." The old wizard said ushering us towards the door.

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**A/N: Sorry if my Latin is a bit on the rusty side, I tried taking it last fall, but I dropped it when I learned I didn't need a foreign language. If anyone reading this knows Latin, please tell me if I screwed up so I can fix it. **


	3. Someone in his Office

**A/N: And we're back to Elaine's point of view. This will be the last time I mention whose point of view a chapter will be in.**

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Someone in his Office

I walked out of the basement not bothering to turn the light off; with the amount of power in this place it would only be a matter of time of minutes before that light bulb burned out anyway. Bob wasn't much help, but at least I know have a name for what was going on with Harry.

The Inner Fire. It's not a ton to go on, but the devil you know is better than the devil you don't I suppose. But that doesn't magically make it easier. I shut the door to the basement snickering at my own pun. I laughed at my own pun, great, I've definitely been with Harry way too freaking long.

Shaking my head slowly; I padded slowly back down the hall to our room and Harry's writhing body. I'm a big enough girl to admit that it hurt like hell watching the man I love laying in a pool of his own sweat, while I was helpless to stop it.

Well if I can find the bastard who did this then I can help him. I will find him and I will bring him back alive.

I cracked the bedroom door open and peered in again. Harry hadn't changed much, he was still in pain, still thrashing around, still sweating. I wonder if soaking him in cold water would help…

It probably wouldn't hurt, I thought as I entered crossed the threshold into the bedroom. It also wouldn't be hard to get cold water in February. Maybe I could just go get some of the snow off the sidewalk and fill the tub with that.

Maybe I should just stick with cold water; I wouldn't want to give him hypothermia at the same time. Knowing Harry's luck he'd probably drown in the snow as well. I suppose that leaves me with just cold water.

I managed to avoid looking at Harry for much longer than I absolutely had to. I crossed at the foot of the bed leading into the master bath. Master wasn't the word I would use to describe it; it was simple and basic, just like the house.

The house was an older two bedroom brownstone on the outskirts of Chicago proper. We managed to pick it up cheaply at auction. Being a wizard doesn't pay well in the modern world, fortunately being a private investigator that always manages to find what your looking, well that pays a little bit more. See Harry and I work out of the same office; he's listed in the yellow pages under wizard, and I'm listed a few letters earlier as a PI, even though we pretty much do the exact same job.

You put "Wizard" on your door and you get every weirdo in the greater Chicago area. When you put "PI" on the door you just get every jealous weirdo in the greater Chicago area. But they keep he mortgage and utilities paid and puts something resembling food on the table.

I absently filled the tub with the coldest water I could, and seeing this is winter, it probably had ice chunks in it at one point. I stuck my hand in to test the water; it was cold enough to send gooseflesh up my arms and down my spine. That should be cold enough to toss Harry in.

I returned to the bedroom and helped Harry's lazy ass out of bed. Normally it's the other way around, but I guess that's why irony exists. Harry may have six inches and fifty pounds on me, but that sure has hell doesn't mean I can't lift his lazy ass out of bed every once and a while.

After plopping his overheated butt in the tub and duct taping his head to the wall to keep him from drowning; I headed out to the street and to the piece of shit Volvo I drive these days. I fished my keys out of my pocket locking the door quickly and rearming the wards.

I unlocked the car door quickly sliding in and pulling the scarf tighter around my neck. My car has no heat or air conditioning so I'm in a word screwed…all year round. In the winter I'm shivering; teeth chattering, hands shaking, frost bite forming, and it looks like I have ice breath. And in the summer I'm sweat buckets and get heat stroke. So I guess it all works out in the end.

Harry cleverly nicknamed it the "The Brown Turd." I know its hilarious right. I slapped myself on the back of my head when he told me, just to make sure I heard it right. Turns out I did.

Anyway, it's mine and it runs; I just wish it was younger than me. But alas that's the price of being a wizard.

I slipped the key in the ignition and prayed that the car would start. I did not need to walk across town in snow that was ass deep to an Indian. That was a little too racist, but what is said can't be unsaid.

I slipped my car into the newly plowed streets, but with this kind of snow it's already hard to drive in. But going twenty-five miles an hour is a hell of a lot faster than walking, and better in this weather.

No real surprise here, but there wasn't another soul or being on the road other than me and three snowplows on the road. What should have been a twenty minute drive in traffic like this, took close to an hour and a half. By that time the car had warmed up enough that I could feel my fingertips again.

The building where the office of Dresden and Mallory are currently located (we have to move around every few months before we burn the place down) is a remarkably ordinary fifteen story office building that just screams Chicago. It's an old brick structure that looks straight out of _The Maltese Falcon. _Same Spade and Philip Marlow would love to set up show here.

No one was here, and on a day like this, I could hardly blame them. I managed to get a space normally reserved for the building manager. If I thought that bitch would be in today, I would still take her spot. She deserves it, don't ask…long story.

Anyway, back to the current white out; I made a dash from the car to the office door, trying to fish out my office key out of my coat with a gloved hand. It took a minute to find the key in that crevice I call a pocket. I managed to get it out and in the lock, hell I even managed to unlock the deadbolt, without breaking anything.

I stepped through the threshold of the office. Apparently no one bothered to turn on the heat on a day like this, when you really need it. So I had the bright idea of running up the six flights of stairs to get to our office. I wanted the office on the thirteenth; because that's the floor a wizard should have an office on, but alas they didn't have a thirteenth floor...stupid superstitious people.

Six flights of stairs later and I was standing in front of a large wood and glass door that bore the title "**Elaine Mallory: Private Investigator**" and underneath it in the same type and the same size it reads, "**Harry Dresden: Wizard.**" If anyone aside from Bob been around when we were trying to decide who's name went first on the door; it would have been described as World War III. Harry has his ego and whatever else guy's have, and I have logic and a keen business sense; and after two straight days and nights of screaming and throwing some trivial magic around I won.

Go, me!

It was only a matter of time though; you see I have one hundred percent of the boobs (and certain other parts) and complete control over who has access to them. And men can only hold out for so long. I don't think I need to do the math for anyone…nope didn't think so.

I slid my key into the final lock to get into the office, although it proved to be pointless. I no sooner slid the key into the lock than the door fell off its hinges. Doors are expensive, and the glass shattered…wonderful. As if having your boyfriend two days away from death isn't bad enough and now I have to get the door replaced and soon.

I still hate Mondays. Dying boyfriend, broken office door, and now I have to investigate a broken into office without my staff.

I should have known that this wouldn't be any kind of easy. I tightened my hand around my staff, only to realize it that I must have forgotten it.

Well that sucks. I hope whoever was in here last is long gone, because burning to death from the inside out is so far down on my list of preferred ways to die it's not even worth mentioning.

Taking a reassuring breath I stepped inside the dimly lit office. The only source of light was from the two street-facing windows with the shades pulled down. I flicked the wall switch; nothing. Damn looks like the light burned out again.

I crept carefully over to the windows and raised the shades, allowing a dense bright white light to flood the room.

No one was left in the room, but that probably would have been easier to deal with. The room looked like it went three rounds with a mega pissed troll. Yes I know what that looks like, it's nasty and gross. Exactly like this room.

Nothing looked like it should; both desks were over turned and broken into no less than a dozen pieces each. Drawers, papers, pencils, paperclips, pushpins and all other office items starting with a 'P' were scattered all over the room. The chairs were either overturned and broken, or just plain broken; the ceiling fan and light were smashed in and lying twisted underneath the ceiling mount.

Every fiber of my being was telling me to pick this shit up and get the office back to normal. Yes I'm fully aware that I'm partially OCD, and I've accepted it. It's going to be nightmare to clean up

There was nothing overtly magical about scene, no scorch marks on the walls and no holes in the wall. It was still looking like someone smashed up the room with their bare hand, or maybe a club. But anything strong enough to smash the office up like this is probably didn't have enough magical power to curse Harry like that.

But what do I know?

Only one real way to look at things and see what's beyond them. "Damn it to hell," I muttered, realizing what the next step had to be. I would have to look at the room through my Third Eye, my Second Sight, my Wizards Eye, and whatever other name it has. Sometimes I think that wizards name things just because they want to be overly dramatic.

"It's for Harry," I muttered, focusing my will into the space on my forehead. The nasty pinching sensation returned between my eyes as my Sight took over.

When I opened them again the office around me looked almost the same, but I could see latent magics, magical currents, and all other magic related things that one can't see with the naked eye.

Most things looked normal, two small pools of latent magic where our desks normally sat, some other random magical currents that normally run through the office, and not much else. That is until I panned over to where the door should be standing. The door and the wall both were covered in crimson scorch marks. Evocation, combat magic, was definitely used here, and recently judging by the color of them. This is probably where he was cursed, I'd bet my staff on it.

So why was the office this trashed? Maybe the bastard that cursed him had some major muscle. If that were the case than they probably were looking for something, something that they thought important.

I took closed my eyes taking another deep breath and focused on shutting my third eye, which proved to be easier and less sickening than opening it. I opened my eyes again, seeing the real world again, except now I have a splitting migraine. That happens every time I use my second sight, it's something that I'm used to, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to vomit every single time.

I shut my eyes again, this time to suppress the urge to add to the mess with my own vomit. When I opened them again, I began sifting through the papers and appointment sheets and everything else trying to look for something, anything that could lead me on the track of Harry's attacker.

In this mess that wasn't easy, but I would work through it as quickly as I could because time was definitely not on my side today. I had maybe thirty-six hours, maybe a little more if the cold water bought me some time, and less if it didn't.

Thinking back to yesterday Harry made it home and collapsed on the front steps at almost nine-thirty last night, meaning that his last client most likely wanted to ensure privacy. Clients who show up to someone who calls themselves a wizard that late on a Sunday night normally aren't your typical nut jobs, or people with minor paranormal problems. They show up because it's a perfect time to do not be seen by people in the other offices.

I didn't think much of it last night, but this morning is an entirely different game.

It took almost an hour of sifting through what was left of his desk before I found the needle I've been looking for in this haystack.

It was one of Harry's business cards; on the back is a space to write an appointment date and time. _January third, 8:00 P.M._

Okay, that was his last appointment; I searched furiously through a stack of papers I'd already seen; praying that Harry actually wrote down the name of the person who made this appointment. Or at least whatever name they gave him…if he/she/it gave one at all.

I found the vinyl covered appointment book Harry bought to try and keep track of his less than successful business. I flipped a few pages finding yesterday and thank the gods that Harry actually bothered to write this one down.

In the eight O'clock spot there was a name, written in his sloppy hand writing _"Sebastion Skyler McGreager or something like that."_

He probably meant Sebastian Skylar McGregor. And if that's a name, and the person hasn't changed to recently then I can probably use it to find this guy. He was the last person to see Harry before he was cursed, only if he's not the one that cursed him.

I rushed out of the office, not bothering to prop the door back up.

* * *

**A.N. Hope you enjoyed, please review. It lights a fire under my ass to write more.**


	4. Someone on my Farm

**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay. Summer's lazy days have really taken their toll on me. I haven't been able to get myself to do anything productive. I'm hoping that schools looming presence might give me a deadline to work harder. Thanks for being patient with me. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.**

Someone on my Farm (Ee Aye Ee Aye Oh)

"Hoss, Missy! Get a move on! We're burning daylight here!" The old wizard bellowed when he reached the old sheet metal door.

I couldn't move faster if my ass were on fire and I had wheels on my shoes; sitting on your knees for five thousand days will do that to a person. Not to mention I was carrying Elaine; who, by the way, was still barely conscious.

"Quit yer lollygagging!" He shouted again, turning around. It was the first decent look I got at the old guy. He was fairly short and thick with working man's muscle, not that crap that body builder haves. He was mostly bald with a few wispy tufts of white hair, mostly coming out of his ears and peaking over the neck of his shirt. His nose looked like a typical old man's it was big, wide, and red.

"I'm trying you old coot!" I shouted trying to get my legs to move without feeling like they were weighed down by sand.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" He said after a large rolling laugh. Shrugging he turned away from the door and walked back over to the two of us. "Here Hoss, lemme help you with that." He picked up Elaine into a fireman's carry like she was nothing and walks back to the door as if nothing happened.

With Elaine's weight not longer keeping me back I limped out of the warehouse thing at the speed of grandma with her walker. Outside was like a whole new world compared to that black bag and the dimly lit shithouse.

It was bright, the sun was out, and it was hot. Had I not known better it would have seemed like a downright pleasant day; but I knew better. It would have been if not for the simple fact that a few moments ago someone, Morgan, held a sword above my head waiting for the word go to swing it.

"Nice day ain't it." The old wizard said with a content sigh.

"No it's not." I mumbled under my breath.

"What was that Hoss?" He replied, not bothering to turn around. The bastard may be old, but I guess he still has his hearing. "What was yours that didn't burn up in the fire is in the bed of my truck."

Three people, one truck…that didn't sound too pleasant, unless it had a back seat, I doubt it did.

Turns out…it didn't. There are a few precious times where I hate being right; this is one of those times. "So are you going to tell us your name or do you want to be called Ole McBastard?"

"Sorry 'bout that Hoss." He said with another hearty chuckle, "Names Ebenezer McCoy." He extended a gruff and calloused hand; a far cry from the manicured nails of DuMorne. "Well, it's Wizard McCoy to you and missy here."

"Alright, _Wizard McCoy._" I said with all the sarcasm I could muster at this particular moment. "Do you mind explaining just what the hell happened in there?"

"Were you sleeping? You were on trial for your life, in case you were." He said as he reached the rusty red Ford pickup.

"That part I got." I shot back opening the passenger door. "What I don't get is what happened after the trial started. There was some yelling, or forceful speaking if you don't like yelling. That was followed by silence and whispers. All the while I can feel a piece of sharp pointy steel behind my neck and someone with an itchy trigger finger."

"You two managed to get put under the Doom of Damocles." He said as if was commenting on the weather.

Needless to say I was thoroughly confused, "doom of damn cheese?" I stuttered trying to repeat what he just said, "what the hell is that, and how do I get rid of it?"

"It's probation of the wizard variety." He responded simply, shoving Elaine into the middle seat. "Screw up again, and it'll be your heads on the floor with no trial…and I'll be there with ya. So don't screw up again, Hoss!" He shouted as he rearranged a large double barreled shotgun (the kind that fathers often use when their daughter goes on a sleazy first date) and a staff in rack on the back window.

Apparently he's just that southern.

"What about Elaine?" I asked trying to find her seat belt. I still wasn't sure what was wrong with her, but I hoped that the council didn't magically lobotomize her or something mean and nasty.

After today…I would never put that by the White Council!

"The same as you. More or less. There are some rumors floating around the Council that the late Wizard DuMorne may have enthralled her. If he were guilty o' breakin' the law; you two would not only be off the hook, the council might give the both o' you medals for catchin' and killin' him."

"Good golly, a medal. That's just the thing to erase the thought that they were going to cut my head off." I began realizing that this old rusty piece of shit truck didn't have any seatbelts. "Oh wait; a medal would be the _last_ thing that would make the memory of the black bag and the sword held over my head." I finished ranting with a deep breath and started to stare out of the window. There was nothing there except dull grey buildings, dull grey concrete, and little squiggly lines of heat coming off them both.

"You keep being snotty with me Hoss and you won't be around much longer. I'm too old for your brand of sarcasm." He grumbled sliding the key in the ignition. "You lay off now, I was the one fightin' for your lives in there. I told them council asshats to get off their arses and do some investigatin'." He slowly turned the key in the ignition holding his breath until the engine turned over with a roar. To put it bluntly the truck's engine was deafening…how this coot could still hear my mumblings driving this clunker around all the time was beyond me.

"So if those 'asshats' find out that DuMorne was a Warlock like I said then none of this cheese filled doom thing?" I asked, well shouted, after we pulled onto one of the surface streets of whatever town the quote _trial _was held in.

"Ya, you could say that." He mumbled, "But that doesn't mean yer off the hook either. The councils gonna watch ye both like a hawk fer a long while either way." He snorted out a quick laugh and maneuvered his dinosaur off the surface street and onto an onramp that proved too short to get this hulking behemoth up to a decent freeway speed.

I gotta pace myself, or I'll run out of snide names to call this walking tetanus shot. Crap, that's the last new name I'm gonna call this rust bucket for at least a day. Damn it, shutting up now.

I decided the best course of action right now was to just shut up and try and enjoy the ride. Not particularly fun when you maybe still girlfriend is still mostly asleep and drooling on your shoulder. But I made do, or tried too.

Soon the busy cityscape, a city I don't think I'll ever be going back to even when I live to be two hundred years, melted into flat countryside that the Midwestern U.S. is made entirely from. Figures that Old McWizard would live on a farm, probably bought it a hundred years ago, and refuses to sell out.

A few hours, stony silence, and a couple buckets of Elaine's drool later the flat Midwestern prairies and farms and fields of wheat and corn began to be replaced with low rolling hills. At the same time the six lane freeway was swapped out with a two lane highway. Apparently there's something in the Midwest other than flat.

"How far are we going?" I asked breaking the hours old silence, not really wanting to hear the answer but at the same time I wanted to know just how long my prison sentence in this…car…would be.

"About thirty miles." He replied simply. Thank god it wouldn't be much longer. "But seeing as we're going through some pretty nasty roads, two or three dozen hills, and a couple of nasty hairpin turns; we should be there in two hours. Three at the most."

My jaw hit the floor. Two, or three hours to go thirty miles! Where the hell were we going? "Where the hell are we going?" I asked letting my thoughts spill out into my mouth and ultimately into the space around me in the form of teeny tiny vibrations that the human ear perceives as speech.

"Hog's Hollow!" He announced as if that was something to be really freaking proud of.

"And that's what exactly?" I asked shaking my head slightly in disbelief.

"My old home and the new home for both of you." He answered in an equally proud manner.

I mentally slapped my face in disbelief. I'm going to be living in a place called Hogs Hollow, and I'm supposed to be okay with that. I don't really don't mind if and only if I never ever have to worry about getting kicked out of bed by a pig or share my breakfast with a goat.

Elaine on the other hand might have a problem. That is if she ever recovers from whatever the hell happened to her.

I hope she does.

And I hope she's willing to forgive me.

After the revelation of where I would now be living sunk in, I decided to do something that I rarely ever do…I kept my mouth shut. Shocking I know, but it happened.

I settled back into the bench seat as best I could with Elaine still seemingly asleep (or unconscious as the case may be) on my shoulder continuing to saturate my t-shirt in drool. For the record ladies, drooling is not attractive in any: way, shape, or form. I slowly found a way that I could tune out the deafening howl of the engine. A tired yawn escaped my lips as I watched the trees and crap as we passed by.

Wow, I just realized I haven't slept in almost three days, and since it's going to be a while before we get to whatever red neck haven that soon awaited us; I took a nap. Since my options for a pillow were: hard glass, shotgun barrel, and a head covered in light brown hair; I don't think I actually need to spell out what I used. Figure it out yourself or stay in the dark.

It wasn't a particularly restful sleep, but my body and my mind needed it, so it was completely worth it; there were no dreams, no excitement, and certainly no frills. For that I enjoyed.

For all the clichés about killing another living person, most of them are right. Even when you only cause they're deaths instead of actually landing the killing blow; for example when you cause some heavy beams to fall on someone's head instead of setting them on fire. You feel it; it's like part of you broke away, you split in two. There then exists the person you were before, and the person you were after.

I don't know how else to explain it that's less cheesy than that. After the initial split, the innocence that you had before begins to slowly weigh on you in really unexpected ways. I haven't seen all of them yet, but I hope the worst is over. Now when I sleep I'm haunted by The Bastards eyes. That's it, I only see his eyes, and more than anything I watch as the life leaves them and they begin to glass over. There hasn't been one night since it all happened that I've gotten a decent night's sleep. The second was the fear, the pain, and the terror that fire now instilled in me; not because I was necessarily afraid, but it…it was a rush. And that's not in a good way, but rather in a bad way; this was the kind that serial killers try to recapture after the first kill.

If there were worse things out there than that…I don't want to see them, and I sure as hell don't want to feel any of them.

Fortunately this sleep was just an all encompassing black sleep.

The next thing I knew and old calloused hand began shaking my shoulder this, apparently, is one of the greatest international signals for _wake the hell up_.

I shook my head up to meet this new threat with a half asleep "who's there?"

"C'mon Hoss, we're burning more daylight than I want to. I already got Missy inside; she'll be out of it for a couple days." McCoy said (hey I'm too tired to think up a creative and slightly insulting nickname) walking toward the house.

Hogs Hollow was a very misleading name. He must have created it to scare off unwanted visitors with a name straight out of _Deliverance_. And that's fine by me. Instead of the one room cabin I'd begun to expect, it was a rather large two story log cabin…A real one, not one of those you see on TV or in the movies, where they were clearly made with power tools and ton of people. This one was built by one person over the course of many, many years. The wood in the house was in various states of being cured, some of it was dull grey, while some of looked like it had been cut and put in within the last couple of weeks.

Needless to say, my shock showed on my face. "She ain't much, but I like to call her home." The geezer said sensing my shock at what this placed turned out to be. "I didn't take any of your stuff out of the back; you'll have to do that yerself"

I grumbled, but complied. I hopped down from the rust bucket and trudged to the bed of the old Ford. Not much of mine survived the fire, what did was just some of the basics: clothes, a few books, and my mother's silver pentacle amulet. The latter was still around my neck, but I guess orphans don't get many possessions as a rule.

Elaine and I have both learned that the hard way.

I hefted the two small duffle bags out of the back and started towards the house. When you become a ward of the state this is a ritual you get used to. Taking what few things you own out of a new car and into a new house, hoping that this one will be better than the last. Very rarely does it turn out good; I thought I finally lucked out when The Bastard plucked me from the _group home_ which is the new euphemism for orphanage.

Maybe this time would be different. For both of our sakes I hoped it was.

I started towards the house, bags in tow when the old man shouted to me. "Your room's upstairs, and to the left. Missy's is across the hall."

I followed his instructions wondering the entire time if I'd been too hard on the old guy. He didn't have to help us out at the trial; it probably would have been easier on him if he didn't. He took on two new apprentices who were accused of murder, under the threat that if we screw up again he gets to die too.

I should give him a fair chance, he deserves it.

The inside of the house looked pretty much like the outside. Exposed logs with bits of mud and straw stuck in between for insulation, rough but functional furniture, an old wood burning stove, an icebox, and a kerjillion little candle holders spread around the house with half melted candles stuck in them. It looked…rustic.

But the stairs were solid enough when I paced up them with all the stealth of a bull, just to be sure. The second story consisted of three rather plain rooms. One to the left, my room apparently; one to the right, Elaine's; and one straight ahead, McCoy's I'm assuming.

I walked into my new room and wasn't surprised by what I found. This place looked rustic too; I'm using that word a lot lately. I should stop, right now. Inside there was nothing but a fairly small closet with no doors and only a few, a small chest of d, and a World War II era cot and mattress. In other words it was the definition of Spartan.

It seemed like he was expecting company, but not just regular company; the kind of company that stays a while and brings all their stuff with them. I wonder who's going to be staying a while.

I set my two bags down by the foot, deciding to test out my new bed. Anything has to be more comfortable than the bench seat that I'd been sitting on for the past nine or ten thousand hours. I kicked off my old tennis shoes and hopped on.

For a bed that's between sixty and a hundred and twenty years old it was surprisingly comfortable and there were sheets already on it. I closed my eyes again and began drifting off to sleep again.

"Hoss, what the hell are you doin' lyin' around here?" McCoy shouted from the door. "I'm supposed to teachin' you how to be a wizard, not letting you vacation. You have work to do."

My eyes shot open and the blood drained out of my face, he was standing over me with a large gnarled staff in one hand and a larger double headed axe. "Now…" I stammered in disbelief.

"No time like the present to start learning Hoss." He grumbled turning and walking down the stairs with sure thuds. I shrugged a little, completely to myself, before cramming my feet back into the still tied tennis shoes at the side of my bed.

I guess that means I get to get settled in later. I almost jogged out of the room, not wanting to keep anyone with a huge axe waiting for any longer than I had to. I exhaled deeply when I opened the front door, all that mountain air, or something along those lines. I scanned the area ahead of me looking for the geezer and his wicked looking axe.

"Over here Hoss," McCoy said appearing from a stand of trees off to the side of the makeshift drive way. "Hell's bells Hoss, the longer you take, the longer we'll be out here!" He disappeared back into the stand of trees.

I grumbled slightly, wishing for once he would tell me just what was going on at least a little in advance so I wouldn't be stuck guessing at what the hell's going on all the time. I headed into the trees at a more normal pace, and thirty seconds later I wandered into a manmade clearing with a mess of wood stacked to one side, a smaller stack to the other and in the middle a ginormous stump.

"Stars and stones it took you long enough to get over here." The old wizard shouted across the clearing.

"Alright, I'm here, what am I supposed to do?" I asked trying my damndest to keep my anger in check. The entire situation is really starting to annoy the hell out of me.

"Split wood of course. In case you didn't notice, the house doesn't have central heat. So if you want to stay warm tonight, you best get to cuttin'." He extended his arm offering a slightly smaller ax then the big, double bladed number he'd carried earlier.

"I thought you were supposed to be teaching me about magic, not using me as your own personal man servant." I said snidely as I took the axe. There was already a small log resting on the giant stump.

"Who said we aren't?" He replied gruffly planting his staff in the before taking larger axe in both hand. "Magic is all about visualization. Sometimes chopping wood is a magical exercise." He gave a big grunt and brought the axe down on the large log, splitting it neatly in two. "And other times, it's about cutting wood."

"Which one is this?" I asked bringing my own axe down on top of the log placed on the stump, missing it by a mile.

"That's what you have to decide for yourself Hoss."

**A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. Next time we'll be back in the portion of the story I've nicknamed "Who Cursed Harry Dresden."**


	5. Someone at His Bar

**A/N: Been a while hasn't it, I think so, July if my memory serves. Sorry to all the readers that liked this but a friend of mine kinda sorta convinced me to start writing a Alice/Bella fic over on the Twi-shit side of things, so I'll ask you all to forgive me. I'm back now with more regular updates. So I hope you guys remember where I left off, cause I don't. I'm just kidding I do, sorta. Thank the Dresden that I had story notes. Okay I'm done have fun reading. Oh, one last thing for any fans of this story, thank AnimeAndBookFan07, for some of the ideas! **

Someone at his Bar

Okay, Harry had an appointment at eight o'clock today. That tells me that he didn't plan on meeting at the office. Katelynn, the bitch of a building manager, locks the doors at five PM promptly so unless you plan on meeting a client in the entryway you meet somewhere else. Knowing Harry that meant _Mac's_.

McAnally's Tavern is by far the only bar slash drinking establishment that caters to the supernatural community. It's styled after and English pub, it's in the basement of an apartment building or office building. I'm honestly not sure. I just know Mac's is done in the number of thirteen. If you counted all the occurrences of thirteen there would probably be thirteen of them. Thirteen stools at the bar, thirteen tables, with fifty-two chairs (that's four occurrences of thirteen) thirteen pillars all with ornate carvings on them and if you look really carefully at them you'll notice there are thirteen scenes on each of the pillars. And thirteen ceiling fans that spin lazily a blink away from frying. Everything in the tavern is scattered around at odd and random angles to disperse any magical energies.

Well, low end magical energies. If Harry or I were to let one rip in there it would still have most of its punch left. But it's good for protecting things from the minor talents, people not members of the White Council, that normally hang out there. Being in the White Council is kind of like being a doctor, you get a shiny white lab coat and some prestige but you also have a giant sue me sign tattooed to your forehead. Minor talents are sort of like chiropractors and those new age healer guys. No prestige, but generally fewer people trying to kill them. It's a trade off really.

On a day like this, I expected no one to be there, but as soon as I opened the door I was greeted by the low buzz of customers waiting out the blizzard with a few of Mac's steak sandwiches and some of the greatest microbrew this side of the Atlantic and Pacific, and Indian…okay you get the point it's some of the greatest stuff ever. It was still rather early in the evening when I got there, and already more than half the tables were filled, some people looked like they had been there most of the day. They probably had come to think of it. It had taken the better part of two hours for the brown turd to crawl through the semi-plowed Chicagoan streets. Apparently the storm proved too difficult for snowplow drivers.

I walked down the steps to the bar, relieving myself of my: coat, gloves, scarf, earmuffs, second scarf, parka, and survival suit. Okay, maybe the last three I made up, but it's cold enough to need all those things right now. I hung all of it on the on one of the thirteen pegs on the coat tree, one more thirteen.

Are we up to thirteen occurrences of thirteen yet?

I took a seat at the corner barstool nodding a hello to Mac. He returned it with a curt nod turning back to a couple of steaks on the old fashion wood burning stove that dominated most of the area behind the counter. Mac's not much of a talker I don't think I've ever heard him say a complete sentence or string more than two or three words together at a time. Fine by me most times including today. I wasn't there to relax or grab a steak sandwich and fires (although if I had to wait much longer I probably would, they smell way too good.) I was there to meet this McGregor guy in Harry's place and see if he was the asshole that cursed him. If he had the misfortune of cursing my boyfriend I had every intention of skinning him alive and performing the counter curse myself if I had to.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, remember?

I slowly scanned the restaurant, not with the Sight, just looking. In the far corner were a couple of college aged girls, who were wearing too much eyeliner, reading a couple of pop culture books on Wicca. Posers essentially, probably didn't have enough power between them to light a single candle. Next to them were a couple of old timers who were the definition of regulars, apparently they were a couple of big name sorcerers in their time, never Council, but from my understanding most wizards wouldn't mess with those two. Currently they were playing chess with a chess set that was probably their age. Better part of two centuries if I understood the stories right. They've been here every time Harry or I have, and we've never once seen them leave.

At the next table was a young couple, slightly older than the two girls in the corner, but not by much. They both had some power too, but I'm pretty sure they were far too infatuated with one another to use any of whatever power at the moment. Next came a table with four suits, they had to be at least two and a half sheets to the wind, and I was getting a little nervous that the table that they were sitting would collapse under the weight of all the dead soldiers lined up neatly into a square shape. I don't think they were in any way connected in the supernatural department; they were most likely looking for the first open bar to go in and get hammered after their office had closed for the day. Three other tables were occupied by singles each accompanied by two or three books, nothing out of the ordinary there.

That took care of the tables; the bar was pretty well empty, other than me of course. The only other person sitting at the bar was in a heavy black sweatshirt hunched over a mug that looked a little like coffee, or tea. From across the room it was hard to tell. I couldn't really see anything else of that person, hell I couldn't even if it was a man or a woman from this angle.

I caught bartender's attention when he set a couple plate of food down on the counter with a heavy grunt. Ah Mac, made great food and beer, but he lacked in the customer service department and never once heard of service with a smile. His idea waiting was plopping down your food on the counter as hard as he could before grunting at you to pick up your own food. After I caught his attention I cocked my head toward the mystery guest at the end of the bar and quirked my eyebrows. He just shrugged is big meaty shoulders and turned back to the stove.

I checked my watch, only 6:30; I figured it was more than a long shot, but what the hell it wouldn't hurt to check. Maybe the mystery guest was this Sebastian Skyler McGregor, stranger things have happened.

Once again I gestured to Mac, using the simple sign language to ask for whatever the hooded figure at the end of the bar was having. Mac may not speak much, but if you speak his language things generally work out. He took a plain white coffee cup out of a cupboard set it down, poured in a dark black coffee that looked about as thick as pancake syrup then topped it off with a fair amount of Irish Whiskey. He slid it in front of me with a small smirk, a rare enough sight that I thought I wouldn't see it in my life. I picked up the strange brew and walked to the other end of the bar, taking the barstool right next to the mystery man – err woman – err person.

"Waiting for someone," I asked as nonchalantly as I could given the circumstances.

The figure nodded, taking a long draw out of the coffee cup. He/she/it turned its attention back to the bar without ever speaking.

"Wouldn't be Harry Dresden would it?" I asked butting a slight edge to my voice, more out of nerve than anger.

Her head snapped up, in surprise letting the hood fall back. _She _was most definitely a woman, and if I were easily threatened I would have been with someone like her making an appointment with _my _Harry after hours in a bar. I also felt every male eye in the bar fall on the two of us well mostly her. To put it mildly she was gorgeous. She had long wavy hair about the same shade as wet coal that was just as shiny with a single streak deep read running underneath, her features were delicate and damn near perfect. Humanly perfect, not supernatural.

I became rather self conscious at that point, because I'd been dealing with this shit all day and hadn't had time to even take a shower, let alone do my hair.

She turned to face me and then I understood exactly why Harry agreed to meet with her under these circumstances, the left side of her face was marred by a deep purple bruise. She pressed the chivalry button, whether she'd known it or not.

"Harry's not going to make it, I'm Elaine his," I wanted to say girlfriend and mark my territory for some reason but I ended up saying, "partner."

"Yes of course, I saw you name on the door Ms. Mallory." She said in perfect English even with a rather thick Eastern European accent. To me it sounded Russian, but I'm no expert. "But I think this is a matter better suited to Mr. Dresden's skills." She said emphasizing the word 'skills' to mean magic without saying it before pulling the hood back over her head.

"We have roughly the same set of skills." I said turning to the front of the bar. "It's funny though, you don't look like a Sebastian and you don't sound like a McGregor." I suddenly found myself desperately wanting a weapon of any variety; preferably my staff of the chain I have that works like Harry's blasting rod. But Mac would frown on either of those being let into his bar.

"It's not my real name of course; someone in your position should respect that." She took another sip of quote coffee unquote.

"I can, and I do, now please tell me what you two were meeting about." The edge on my voice became sharper and much clearer. I wasn't far from beating the answers out of this chick.

"You saw my face, you know." Her calm and elegant voice was really starting to get under my skin, she couldn't seem to answer a question directly. I lost all ability to make some s

"Okay, let me lay all my cards on the table." I said spinning around in the barstool to face her, dropping my voice to an angry whisper, "Harry's been cursed, something very, very, _very_ nasty. He's going to die within two days if I don't find whoever cursed him and get him or _her_ to undo it. If I can't I've been told that I can skin the person alive and remove the curse myself. You were the last person in that office yesterday so you know something. I'm going to ask again: What were you two meeting about?" The edge on my voice caught on fire too and I started scaring myself with what I said. Of course I didn't let it show. That would be stupid and foolish (i.e. something Harry would do.)

"We were going to discuss the man who did this to my face." She said pushing herself back into the wall of the tavern. "He's a…warlock? Is that the right English word?"

"Of course he is." I scoffed taking my first drag of the whiskey and coffee. "Of course he is. And what's his name?"

"I don't know..."

"Of course you don't. You probably don't know what he looked like either."

"He told me his name was Vladimir Nabokov, but I don't think he told me his real name. And I know what he looks like; I have a picture of him right here." She dug around in the center pocket of her sweatshirt finally pulling out a wallet sized photo of a man wearing a mantled cape holding a long staff topped with a human skull.

Wonderful!

"And how do you know this Vladimir?" I asked calming myself down.

"He was my boyfriend."

That sounded believable, well the most believable thing I'd heard today but still, it was believable none the less. That sounded like it was more up my alley. I deal with a lot of jilted boyfriends and abused girlfriends too scared to go to the police. Comes with the territory when you advertise PI instead of Wizard, but someone has to pay the bills. "Alright, how powerful is your boyfriend and do you have something physical I can link to him?"

"You mean is he powerful enough to curse your Mr. Dresden." She took another long sip, still facing the front of the bar, "The truth is that he might be. He wasn't always a warlock, you know?"

She gave me the same speech I've heard from a hundred different people saying how whoever it was (normally a boyfriend) was a nice guy in the beginning but then he 'changed.' Doesn't matter how many times you hear it or how jaded you get, it gets to you. It gets to you because it's always, always honest, and it's painful, and more than anything you want to help.

"I know he wasn't." I said after she was finished, offering her a small package of tissues I keep for situations like these. The words sounded hollow, a line practiced hundreds of times.

She handed over the picture, taped to the back was a lock of dark brown hair, roots still attached. I thanked, spinning around on the bar stool, and went back to the coat tree grabbing all the stuff I unloaded when I came in. Heading back into the blizzard, I gave one final look back at the girl calling herself Sebastian. Her head, still bowed deeply over the mug, her hands still wrapped around it staring into space.

I didn't trust her.

**Happy Veteran's Day everyone!**

**--Enjorous**


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